A YEAR TOO MANY
by EnvelopesandCypressTrees
Summary: Richard has a tradition, he stays up all night on his sibling's birthday's to bake them a cake. It's Damian's turn, but Damian didn't want Dick's love. It's weak, pathetic, unacceptable. Dick leave's hurt when Damian lashes out at him. CHAP. 2 UP! DICK HURT, BATFAM TO RESCUE! R&R. 5 TO KEEP ME POSTING! No matter what Richard has his brother's backs, maybe even dying in the process.
1. Stupid, Grayson!

**hope to continue soon! Reviews let me know what you think...so let me know! Even if it's just a smiley or a frowny or a WTF. **

* * *

**Damian's POV**

It woke me up. I had fallen asleep on the couch, the TV casting eerie, low mummers through the room and flickering with blue tinted images. The sound from the kitchen had woken me. I hate to be woken.

I pushed myself up from the couch, someone had put a blanket on me. As if I was a child. It was probably Grayson. Stupid, sentimental Grayson. I shoved the blanket off. And stood up, the floor burning my feet with chill.

Someone was singing in the kitchen, clanking around dishes. It was horrible. I made my way to the ribbon of light down the hall of the manor, the kitchen was lit like a stadium. The rest of the house pitch black and deathly silent. Did this retched sound not wake anyone else?

I stopped at the door of the kitchen, blinking in the intensity of the light. When my eyes adjusted I saw Grayson. Of course.

He was wearing a pink apron with cupcakes on it, which was a gift to the Brown girl last Christmas.

The kitchen was a wreck, like a flour bomb had exploded. Half covering Grayson in the process.

The fool was standing over a lopsided cake, frosting it with a fork, frosting seemed to be going everywhere except the damn cake itself.

He was singing Happy Birthday.

The whole scene was so happy it was infuriating. My eyes wander to the stove, the clock blinks and reads 2:29 AM. Hell no.

"Grayson!" I hiss, and how I hissed. He didn't jump in surprise, I'll give the idiot that much. He spun to face me, a guilty look in his eyes.

Frosting was all over his face and shirt, flour dusting his hair. His hands were consumed by frosting, as well the fork. The cake looked hideous. His eyes wandered to the cake and he tried to hide it with his body.

"Yes?" it was innocent, like a child who had been caught putting on his mother's makeup. I hate innocent.

"What the hell are you doing?" I had no patience for this. For some reason, that I now don't know, he was _infuriating_ me. With his happiness…his innocence…his stupid _cake_.

"Well, it's your birthday tomorrow, little D" he was still hiding the disgusting hunk behind him. He wiped frosting off his nose with the back of his hand, it smeared.

"Don't" I hissed "call me that" he shrugged and tried again for the stubborn frosting on his face. He was making it worse.

"It's tradition, little D." I seethed, he called me it again "Every time one of my family has a birthday I stay up and make them a birthday cake…" he seemed quite proud, he finally revealed the cake, it was white, with lumpy frosting. Some of the frosting fell of with a 'squish' onto the counter, Grayson was grinning like an idiot "see?" he said "_Coconut" _

"That is absolutely_ pathetic"_ venom dripped from my words and I crossed my arms, Grayson's eyes flickered with hurt. He hid it.

"Say what you want, Kill Joy. It's the thought that counts." He spun around with a flourished twirl of his apron and went back to attacking the cake with the fork, he hummed.

"Grayson, you really are _pathetic_" he ignored me "don't bother with the stupid cake, I won't eat it" I stood there arm's crossed, he tossed me a small glance over his shoulder.

"Whatever, little D. I'm still going to make the cake" Grayson! I trembled, rage over taking my body.

"I said _no, _Grayson! Do as I say, imbecile!" Grayson continued to frost, his hips moving to his horrid humming. Why doesn't he listen? I do not want A CAKE. I DO NOT WANT A BIRTHDAY! I DO NOT WANT…

HIS LOVE. It was weak, it was unacceptable.

"Grayson you are NOT my family!" he stopped. He stared at his heap of frosting and pastry. "You are NOT my family! And you _never_ will be!" later, I don't remember why I was so mad. But I was_ infuriated_.

"Damian…"

"Go to hell, Grayson! I don't even know why you bother coming here! This is not your home! Bruce is not your father! You are just a_ circus freak_ who should have died with your worthless parents and saved this family a bunch of pain and hardship!"

I don't know what drove me to such anger, walk away Grayson. _Please_. I don't want to hurt you "You. Are. A. _Joke_! You are a stain in Bruce's life. You annoying, good for nothing piece of crap! You should slit your wrists or jump off a skyscraper Grayson and save _everybody_ from a great annoyance! Maybe your parents miss you! _Doubtfully!_ If they had _wanted _you they wouldn't have _left _you-"

"Enough!" I jumped, rattled out of my rant. Thank God. Alfred in his nightclothes was standing in the door. Anger, hurt and confusion melting onto his face. I turned back to Grayson, the fork trembling madly in his fingers. He dropped it on the cake.

Grayson backed away from the cake like it was a bomb never turning to face me. In one last fit of rage I lunged forward and grabbed the cake, ripping it from the counter. It crashed to the floor with the noise of harsh, shattering glass as the plate under it broke it pieces. Frosting splattered on our feet.

I must not be loved. It is weak. It is pathetic. It is unacceptable.

* * *

**Alfred's POV**

I woke with a start, an angry voice exploding in my senses. Ah, yes. The youngest Wayne. The boy that refused to be loved. The gentle voice of the eldest reached my ears and I smiled. He was making a cake for the youngest.

I was used to this sound, the sound of not only the midnight bakery on birthdays but the young master shouting rudely as well. I pull myself from my bed and slip my feet into my slippers. Swallowing a yawn I make my way towards the kitchen.

It was only on birthdays that I allowed my kitchen to be abused like this, only for Master Richard. He had started this tradition when he was ten. My, how the years fly by. The child was nearly 25 now. He wasn't a very good baker, truth be told. The cakes usually took the young man all night, but there was love there. The real kind.

The hatred behind young Damian's words drove me to a jog. The words my eldest was being attacked with shook me to the core.

I paused by the door, ignoring the mess, I had no view of my eldest's face, but he was trembling, _hurting_ under the massive tongue lashing the boy was giving him. The young Wayne was seething

"You annoying, good for nothing piece of crap! You should slit your wrists or jump off a skyscraper Grayson and save _everybody_ from a great annoyance! Maybe your parents miss you! _Doubtfully!_ If they had _wanted _you they wouldn't have _left _you-" Rage welled inside me. Rage and fear.

"Enough!" I shouted the emotion raw in my voice. The cake shattered on the floor, and exploded in a firework of frosting. I stared at it.

I was very protective of my eldest, perhaps him the most of all.

I looked up at the boys. At_ my _boy, he was backing away from the cake.

"Richard" it brushed past my lips as a breath. Damn the 'Master' part. Screw formalities_. My boy _was hurting.

Damian stormed out, roughly bumping me aside. I went to Richard who was still trembling viscously. I wanted to wrap my arms around him like I used to when he would come home from school crying, words were powerful weapons.

"It's just a fucking cake" he muttered. That was false and he knew it. He knew it meant more. It was a symbol of acceptation. A symbol of love.

I didn't touch him but I stood near, near enough were I could feel the heat from his body, he kicked at a broken piece of plate. It skittered through the frosting. "I'm going to BludHavën, Alfie" his voice was small, broken. I wanted to tell him to stay, but I knew it would be best for him to leave.

"I understand. Don't patrol tonight Master Richard. _Please. _ You're upset" we both knew the dangers of patrolling when upset, I didn't want him to get sloppy and get himself injured…or worse. He said nothing, he untied the apron with shaky fingers and left. I stared at the kitchen. Lord, help him. Lord, help my boy.

* * *

**Damian's POV**

I felt bad but Grayson had to learn. Not to love me. Out of everyone he was the hardest to teach. He just wouldn't stop trying. Love was stupid. Grayson was stupid to try. Why does he insist that he will?

I sat heavily on the couch and turned off the TV. I hear a motorcycle roar to life outside like a hibernating beast and buzz away. He was going home. His _real_ home. Not here.

I hear Alfred before I saw him, I expected him to lecture me. What I didn't expect was the harsh sting across my cheek, my head turned to the side as he slapped me. I stood to face him, anger in my eyes. His finger's still stinging on my cheek. Emotion was raw in his eyes. Hurt, pain, anger, disbelief…disappointment.

"How dare you" he muttered, I could tell he wanted to slap me again. My eyes were hard and threatening. The old butler shook his head softly and he was gone. I sat again, alone, and curled Grayson's blanket around me. Stupid, sentimental Grayson.

* * *

**Richard's POV**

It was 4 in the morning by the time I got home, or to my place of residence anyways. I had always thought of the manor to be my home. According to Damian _it wasn't._ That little brat. I was just trying to be nice, I considered him to be part of my family…my bad.

I closed my apartment door behind me, latching the chain into place and turning the lock. I rubbed frosting off my face. My eyes heavy, stinging, itching to cry. I was used to being bullied, I went through high school. I was used to being known as the _circus freak_, or as Bruce's bitch. Or worse as Bruce's fuck buddy. I had heard it all. But this was my little brother, I hadn't expected it to come from him.

My hands curled into fists, I could feel my fingernails draw blood.

_He had told me to kill myself._

I ripped off my shirt letting the cool air consume my skin, the solitary beads of sweat on my chest were dried. I kicked off my boots and pants and I ripped open my closet retrieving my costume.

_Easy, Dick_. Alfred told you not to patrol.

I got dressed anyways, the familiar spandex and Kevlar hugging my muscles. I opened my window and leaped, my jump line the only thing keeping me from the harsh pavement below, the line snapped taught as I swung onto a roof.

Fuck you, Damian. Happy Fucking Birthday.

I pitied the fool who did wrong in my city tonight.

* * *

**Alfred's POV**

I feel as if I should awaken Master Bruce, after the dispute between Master Damian and Master Richard. But I didn't, Bruce hardly gets enough sleep as it is. I'm sure it can wait until daylight.

And yet something tells me otherwise. Fatherly instinct I suppose. I took the home phone in my hand, twisting the cord in my fingers and called Master Richard's cell phone. It rang. And rang. And rang.

Voicemail beeped.

"Master Richard? It's Alfred. Please come home" that's all I said. I went to work cleaning the kitchen.

* * *

**Bruce's POV**

I was awake before I even realized I was, I found myself staring at the ceiling of my room. I sat up. Dick was probably still messing around in the kitchen making Damian's cake, the kitchen was probably a mess, Dick was probably asleep snoring in frosting and egg yolks and batter. I can't help but smile.

I yawned deeply and stand up with a stretch, wrapping a robe around myself and tying the middle. I go down stairs, my children are already awake. Tim, Stephanie…I look for Damian and Richard.

"Good morning, sir" Alfred passed me and into the dining room where my children are sitting at the table chatting. All look wide awake. That's when I realize it's past eight. I panic for a moment and then remember that I canceled work for Damian's birthday. I sit.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice how Alfred looks troubled. His kind eyes clouded and wrinkled in…concern?

"Good morning" I say, my eyes still heavy with sleep. They smile at me and continue to eat their breakfast. "Where's Damian and Richard-?"

"-I'm right here" I turned to watch Damian enter the room, never making eye contact and sit heavily next to Tim. Tim smiles at him through a mouthful of food

"Happy Birthday" my youngest only grunts. Jason storms in and sits next to me, a cigarette in his lips.

"Put that out in the house" Alfred orders from the back of the room, Jason jams it down on the white table cloth leaving a burn and crushes the thing in his fingers.

"I hate mornings" rolled past his lips like a lie, I rolled my eyes. Breakfast progresses soundlessly, we are all in thought.

"Where's Richard?" Stephanie asks interrupting, Alfred speaks, his words thick and regretful.

"He's in BludHavën" short and quick, striking the point. I stiffen and eye the others with a weird, unconscious knot tying my stomach. They too are confused. All but my youngest.

"Why?"

"Yeah what about those cakes the little fucker likes to make?" Jason burps, the smell of regurgitated pancakes and cigarette smoke wafting across the table. We all cringe.

"He never finished last night, he had to go _home_." The kind man drew out 'home', eyeing Damian's back "Isn't that right, Master Damian?" several sets of eyes turned towards the youngest, who was crossing his arms defiantly.

"Grayson was making me a pathetic cake and I told him not to" his eyes rotated around the table venomously "I just told him to go home, because he wasn't family" someone dropped their fork, it clattered. Echoing.

"Oh no, Master Bruce that's not _all _he said…if I recall you told Master Richard to go kill himself because he was worthless...and he should have died with his _worthless_ parents" moths were agape, mine included. My voice came in a heave

"_You said WHAT?!"_ dropping my coffee as I pushed myself from my seat, anger pulsed through my veins like acid. Damian sat taller, a '_yeah, so?"_ expression on his face. His smug little face. Jason hooted with laughter

"Ha-oh-oh my God!" he threw a hand to his heart "that is_ harsh_!" I knew deep down the word's hurt Jason as much as it hurt everyone else. He liked Richard, even if he hated to admit it.

"Damian…" Stephanie murmured, her voice breathy in shock "Oh God_, Richard_…" Tim shoved himself from his seat

"Damn it, Damian! He was just trying to be nice!" Tim left, Jason and Stephanie followed, I knew where they were all going.

They were getting dressed, they were going to find their brother. A silent vow to protect their oldest, protect the one who had always protected them.

"Damian" I growled, his name burning a hole deep inside me "you need to apologize to Richard" I glared "and I am _not_ asking."

* * *

**Richard's POV**

I was feeling better, I had sat on a rattling air conditioner atop a nearly abandoned building and watched the sun peak over the smog clouds that consumed my city. In a way it was beautiful. Something pure peaking though layers of filth.

His word's still stung when I thought of them, but he was my brother. Like it or not. I forgave him for that fact. I wanted to beat his ass. But I knew I wouldn't.

I looked down, blood clung to the knuckles of my gloves. Red is such a cruel color. It's hard to believe I once wore it. The color of life, harsh, cruel life. The color of death.

I wore blue now, the color of blood inside the body. Where it belongs.

I didn't hear the footsteps behind me until it was too late.

* * *

**well damn. I may continue. I really appreciate reviews. Like a lot. So please drop me a line. Spoilers: There is Richard Whump to come. Like a lot. So review what you think may happen, or a question and I will get back with you. Yeah, I'm that kind of writer.**

**Your faithful Writer (who loves review)**

**EACT**

**stay cool my friends.**


	2. You Will Never Win When You Fight Upset

**Five reviews or more to keep me posting! this is where the Richard whump and angst come in so buckle up fan girls! it's a short chapter so savor...more coming soon! (well maybe with enough reviews) **

* * *

**Richard's POV**

I felt a harsh 'crack' on the back of my skull, nearly splitting it open. White dots blinded my vision, I was not out. But I was down.

I crashed to the roof. Onto all fours crawling like a dog to regain my footing, it was hard to see. A warm trickle of blood caught in the cavities of my ear. I blinked away the white and faced my attacker.

His familiar orange and black burning a hole in the depths of my mind.

"Deathstroke" I mumble through numbing lips, he had hit me hard, but he didn't hit me hard enough. That much I knew was on purpose. He had a Bo staff, much like mine in his hands. He was leaning on it nonchalantly staring at me like a snake does a rodent.

I was the rodent.

My hands balled into fists at my sides, you fool. You don't want to make me mad. I'm already mad.

I lunged at him, sloppily. The blood dripping from my ear to my cheek. He easily side stepped me and drove a knee into my thigh. A pressure point. My leg went numb. Useless. Limp. I balanced on the other. Cupping a hand to my throbbing thigh, dragging it behind me as we circled each other venomously.

"Are you going to at least tell me what you want?" my voice was husky with pain. He grinned through his mask.

"To kill you of course" _of course. _ I wasn't surprised. He lunged for me and I back pedaled tripping on my own damn, limp leg. I drove my other leg up as I fell, lodging the ball of my foot right into the crook of his neck. He heaved and sprung back breathless. I scrambled to my feet. Or foot. And attacked again.

I grabbed his skull and bashed it down on my knee. A difficult task with one leg. He seemed impressed as he staggered.

"Very _innovative_" he praised, what the hell? He came at me again a flurry of rapid kicks and punches, with one leg I had no chance. I held my own for a while but got drained quickly. He grabbed my arm, shattering the socket bone in my shoulder. I screeched.

Yes,_ screeched_. Agony coursing through my body, I convulsed. He ripped my arm behind me, pinning it between his body and my back.

He was a good head taller than me, I could feel his jock strap in my lower back. I cringed and tried to twist away, instead he grabbed my other wrist and pinned that behind my neck with his other hand. I was hopelessly stuck. My hips twitched to get freedom from the awkward position.

Damn it, Damian. I don't know why I blamed him, but I did. I should have been home with my_ family_. Not alone on the streets of a cruel city.

Alfred had warned me. Grayson, you idiot. I could feel him reaching for something in his belt. And strained my neck to see what it was. I caught a glint of metal. Hell no. I jerked again to free myself. No avail.

_Damn it, Damian._

He was holding me up by my shattered shoulder, my limp leg bent below me. I felt hot pain across my thigh. He was cutting me, deeply. I screamed and tried to jerk away.

Deathstroke was breathing heavily behind me, his hard cup still pressed into my back.

"I want to make you suffer first" he cut deeper, I felt the handle press onto my skin. He twisted it. I couldn't help it, I screamed. Giving him satisfaction. "You've been a pain in my ass for too long" my breath was raggedy, short, desperate pants. My limp leg wobbled dangerously. Bile burning my lungs.

Oh God, stop. _Please._

_Please._

My head was dipping to my chest with shock, the hot pain in my leg and shoulder driving me near unconsciousness. I hear a thud and my head twitches to register the sound.

"Put him down" it's a desperate, threatening growl. My father. Thank God. I feel Deathstroke slowly pull the length of the curved blade from my thigh, my flesh sucking together trying to heal itself. Blood is running in a torrent down my thigh. He drops me. Crouching behind me the knife near my collar bone. His breath is hot on my neck.

I hit the ground hard. I manage to stay sitting and not fall over, I look up at my dad from a curtain of shaggy hair, I'm sweating. Batman sends me a short, ghostly glance of concern. I send him a short, ghostly reassuring smile. He's not buying it.

My knees are facing each other my heels by my ass. Blood is pooling around me. My limp leg. My arm hanging uselessly by my side, I'm holding it close to my body. Trying not to move it. Shoots of pain flood my veins. I've been through worse, hell, I've been through much worse. But I still had pent up emotional pain nibbling at my mind and it was intensifying my injuries.

Damian, wanted me to die. My own brother. For some reason, I didn't blame him. I did try too hard to love him. Maybe I was better off just _dead_.

That's idiotic. But in that moment I believed it to be true.

Bruce, disguised as Batman steps towards me, to protect me from the man behind me.

"I'm disappointed in you Nightwing." His voice drawing out, thick and obnoxiously sweet, dripping in my ears like molasses. The blood from my ear had traveled down my neck. "You usually fight with such heart, _passion_…tonight you seem _preoccupied_." I struggled to my injured legs, stumbling some. Deathstroke rose with me keeping on arm around my neck, snugly. And the blade resting on my collar bone.

He maneuvered his arm around my neck so that his fingers entangled in the back of my hair holding me in place, sticky words tickled my ear

"Do _not _move" I shot him a glare he couldn't see but stayed still. Deathstroke had the advantage here.

'What do you _want?_" I turned my head quickly to see the familiar get up of Red Robin, he was perched on the air conditioner I had sat on earlier, a splatter of my blood. My blood. Was on the ground. When I turned Deathstroke's knife cut into my skin drawing a thin line of blood. I hissed. My brother and father squinted. Stay cool, my eyes warned. Stay cool.

My eye's met the masked ones of my younger brother, he was trying to hide his concern, his eyes apologetic.

"I want him dead" their eye's squinted more. I shook my head softly. _Please_. Not wanting them to get hurt for me. _It's not worth it. _

I'm not worth it.

* * *

**Bruce's POV**

Red Robin was with me in the bat mobile, Batgirl and Robin were on the R cycle, Red Hood well…who really knows. Tim and I would search the eastern end of BludHavën, Stephanie and Damian the western and Jason the north. The south end had been abandoned after the radiation crisis.

We had left the car by now and were searching rooftops.

"RH to BM" I answered

"BM here"

"Wing's apartment's is empty, he left a while ago" I hang up, Dick you idiot. He had gone patrolling. My heart was in my temples. You _never_ patrol when upset. _Ever._ That was rule number one.

Richard you idiot.

I found my rage towards my youngest. Damn it Damian!

"Red Robin. Check the alley's, I'll take the rooftops" His eyes said '_find my brother, dad'_ but he curtly nodded and took off, a mad dash. When he was out of sight, I looked to the sky. Grayson you idiot, if you get hurt…

"CRACK" I jumped and drew a batarang as the loud noise echoed in the eerily silent dark. I knew this sound well. It was a skull meeting a staff. Or the other ways around.

"Shit" I hadn't even known I had cursed, soon I was flying across roof tops. The sound hadn't been that far away. In the dusk of the moon I saw a struggle on a roof top near me. _Dick._ He was fighting upset. You never win when you're upset.

I quickly looked over my son's injuries. A gash on his head which was bleeding sluggishly, a bruise on his cheek, a thin trickle of blood from his nose. A limp leg, a broken arm? And then the busy knife.

Deathstroke was twisting it in my son's thigh, his painful screams echoing in the darkness.

I sprang into action.

"Put him down" it rumbled past my sneer like a growl. Deathstroke removed the blade, it was longer than I thought, curved viciously. And dropped Dick on his ass crouching down behind him with the knife on his neck. My son's masked eyes were painful and my heart dropped. He smiled. I didn't buy it.

The brave boy tried to stand, Deathstroke's fingers in my son's hair.

this was my baby boy. The one who picked me up and kept me walking when I stumbled. the one who understood and yet never really did, and that kept me real. the one who kept me from killing. or going mad.

The screams had drawn my other son, Red Robin perched on the air conditioner and eyed his elder brother anxiously.

"What do you want?" He said his voice as venomous as mine. Richard winced as the blade cut down on him slightly, I shot my younger a glance '_Don't, Tim"_ as he twitched in rage.

I knew we had lost when Nightwing turned his eyes to look at me and the only thing I saw pooling in the whites of his mask…was defeat.

Oh Damian. What have you done?

* * *

**Well there.**

**5 reviews or more please. like before if you review as a question I WILL get back to you, AND I do take suggestions. really. Fan fiction writers have to remember that we are here, we write, for you, our audience. I am but your servant. (kind of... :D I may or may not use your whole suggestion)**

**Anyways,**

**Your writer (who will post for review cookies)**

**EACT**


End file.
